Post #4419711

For years I lived as if my life were made of clay or wood or even stone, and all I had to do—“all”— was mold or whittle or chisel to change its shape. As if my life were calling out from inside a larger hunk of raw material, of potential living. As if the shape existed, and my work was to reveal it. For years I lived like that. Imagine the absurdity of taking a chisel to water, or trying to sculpt it with your hands. This is what a life is: water. The work is letting it fill the spaces it runs to; letting it flow around or through the rest. Yes, it glistens as silver as a blade, and yes, it can drill through stone, but it’s soft to the touch. A life does what water does: It goes. ~~ 'For years I lived' by Maggie Smith from 'A Suite or a Suitcase' #VerseThursday #TodaysPoem #poetry @poetry@fedigroups.social